


above the pay grade

by thir13enth



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: But only if you squint, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25923859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth
Summary: Rodrigue's dedication to him goes well beyond chivalry, Lambert realizes.
Relationships: Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd/Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	above the pay grade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BiaPendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiaPendragon/gifts).



> really fucking late for rodrigue week that it honestly shouldn’t even count.
> 
> but this is mostly for bia. bless u for being such a wonderful human bean. i hope you enjoy a little more lambrigue in your day!

A click at the door startles Lambert awake.

“Patricia?” Lambert calls instinctively, his eyes flashing wide open as he looks up.

But the figure at the doorway is _definitely_ not hers. And honestly, he doesn’t know why he expects her in the first place. Hope, maybe? An indication of happiness, perhaps? Or some kind of sign that he wasn’t wrong to have married her — even when neither seemed like to each other more than the potential of their combined social power?

She never seems to move away from that window, after all.

He hasn’t seen her eyes in so long that he’s forgotten their color. Grey? Lavender? The lightest blue? Whatever shade or hue, he’s no longer familiar with them. She’s blank, almost lifeless.

“Oh, Rodrigue,” Lambert says, recognizing the man as he steps forward. Lambert rubs his left eye with his free hand. “I’m so sorry I mistook you for my wife. I was simply startled. I promise you that you look nothing at all like her, and that your physique suggests absolutely nothing feminine.”

Rodrigue laughs heartily, coming into the soft candlelight. “I will only take it as compliment that you might mistake me for your beloved,” he simply replies, forgiving. And before Lambert offer jest, Rodrigue places a tray of tea and biscuits onto his desk. “Burning the midnight oil again?” Rodrigue asks.

Rodrigue seems to notice something funny before Lambert, his eyebrow cocking up in amusement. Lambert follows Rodrigue’s gaze, glancing down at the document before him — seeing the shaky serpentine trail of ink that followed his last legible word.

He doesn’t bother to cover the blunder.

“ _Only_ burning the oil,” Lambert replies, giving Rodrigue a crooked smile. “Not doing much of anything else. My sleepiness gets the better of me.”

“Well, hopefully this tea will get you perked back up in no time,” Rodrigue says, pushing forward the tray to Rodrigue’s eyeline.

Lambert catches note of the various snacks on the tray, and then the one solitary teacup on its dish — steam swirling around its edges. He lifts his gaze, meeting eyes with Rodrigue.

“Only one?” he asks.

Suddenly flustered, Rodrigue apologizes profusely, stumbling on his words. “O-Oh! Sorry! Should I have prepared more for you? I didn’t realize—"

“No, you idiot,” Lambert chides. “Where’s _your_ teacup? Join me.” He then turns his body, opening the drawer to his right. He shuffles through some of the mismatched items, the various things inside clinking. “No matter, I have an extra cup somewhere here.”

And shortly after, Lambert indeed produces a cup.

“Don’t tell me that’s from the last time I got you tea,” Rodrigue half-snorts, half-chokes.

“Oh, please. It wasn’t _that_ long ago.” Lambert gives the cup a quick inspection, sniffing the inside of the cup before placing it in front of him. “I’ll drink from this,” he says, reaching for the teapot.

Rodrigue quickly takes the pot, pouring the tea for Lambert before the king’s hands can even reach.

Lambert gives him a small pout. “I can do this myself, Rodrigue, you know. You don’t _have_ to do everything for me.”

“If I let you, you’ll spill it all over your very important documents.”

“You wound me, Rodrigue,” Lambert says, placing his hand over his chest dramatically. “Aren’t you supposed to be the Shield of Faerghus?”

“I can’t protect you from yourself, Your Highness,” Rodrigue gently reminds him.

Lambert sighs loudly, taking another long sip of his tea. “You are not wrong, Rodrigue,” Lambert agrees. He looks Rodrigue over, gesturing to a chair to the side. “Sit, why don’t you? Relax a little bit with me. Why are you still awake anyway?”

Rodrigue stiffly turns before obliging Lambert’s command. He shrugs as he sits, settling himself down and crossing one leg over the other. “I don’t know,” he says, with a small smile. “Sometimes I just get a feeling when you have a late night and I figured you might need someone around to keep you awake.”

“Good thing you did, because otherwise I’m pretty sure I would have accidentally written off the entire kingdom to Adrestia in my slumber,” Lambert jokes.

Rodrigue chortles and Lambert follows in suit. Their soft laughter eventually fades into a comfortable and thoughtful silence, broken only by occasional clinks of ceramic and the snap of a flickering candle.

Lambert downs the last of his tea, palming the bottom of the cup with his hand. He stares into his empty cup, swirling around the few remaining impossible-to-drink drops in it.

“Honestly, what would I ever do without you?” he suddenly blurts, looking up at Rodrigue.

Rodrigue scoffs. “What do you mean? You seem to be burning the oil just fine,” he jests. He glances at Lambert from the corner of his eye, suddenly catching note of Lambert’s sincerity. He rephrases, in a more solemn voice. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been there for me — this entire time. Ever since we were boys, ever since we were both given our first training swords,” Lambert explains. “You were my sparring partner, and you were my study tutor, and you were the person that made sure I was prepared for all these kingly duties.” Lambert’s voice rises as he continues off his fingers, becoming more animated with every listing. “You were there for my coronation, and you were my best man… at both my weddings. You’re a second father to my children. And you’re still here for me — thirty years later! My advisor! My confidant! I don’t know how you keep putting up with me.”

Rodrigue nods. “Well, at this point, it’s my job and responsibility,” he says wryly.

“Nonsense!” Lambert booms, slamming his teacup onto his desk. “Even without pay and without title, I know you would still be at my side. Why?” His eyes suddenly flicker down to Rodrigue’s chair. “And why the hell are you sitting so far from me? We’re not strangers! I don’t want to be raising my voice just to talk to you! Sit yourself closer.”

Rodrigue considers, as if wavering, but then slowly lifts himself up to slide his chair ever so slightly closer to Lambert. He sits back down again, though at the very opposite edge of the seat, crossing his legs neatly once more to settle in.

“Why?” Lambert repeats again, gesturing to him. “Why do you help me so much, Rodrigue?”

“You’re my king.”

Lambert narrows his eyes at him, trying to suss out any other kind of reaction he can pick up from Rodrigue’s suddenly flat affect. He rolls his eyes.

“This amount of dedication goes well beyond chivalry, I think,” Lambert argues. “We’re such good friends — no, we’re like brothers. Actually, not even. For us? I wouldn’t even know what the word to use.” He pauses, watching Rodrigue’s face. He offers him a warm smile. “I can’t even get some of my generals to get to our strategy meetings on time.”

“I also get paid quite a bit more than your generals,” Rodrigue says brusquely.

Lambert leans back into his chair.

So be it, if Rodrigue doesn’t want to talk sentimental this evening. So be it. 

“Huh. I never would have guessed your loyalty to the coin. Wonder what else I don’t know about you, even with the many decades we’ve been together,” Lambert muses, playing along with the sarcasm.

Lambert thinks he sees Rodrigue hesitate — sees him swallow thickly, frozen with his half-full teacup in his hand and staring off at an indeterminate spot on the floor somewhere at the foot of his desk. And for a moment, Lambert wonders if maybe there really _is_ something Rodrigue isn’t telling him.

But it’s only a moment, and when the moment passes, Rodrigue’s eyes meet his again.

“Many things, I’m sure,” he says, with the most curious lilt on his lips. “Since you’re such a dolt.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [the blue bird](https://www.twitter.com/napsbeforesleep)


End file.
